


Six Weeks

by TheSaddleman



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Angst, F/M, Foreknowledge, Foreshadowing, Friendship, Love Confessions, Memory Wipe, spoilers for Doctor Who Series 9, spoilers for Torchwood: Children of Earth, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 21:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8417710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSaddleman/pseuds/TheSaddleman
Summary: There is one piece of information a time traveller should never seek out, lest it drive him or herself mad. When Clara discovers this information by accident, she and the Doctor need to find a way to stop time from collapsing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place between Sleep No More and Face the Raven.

It was supposed to be a simple adventure. Hell, it barely qualified _as_ an adventure. More of a diversion, really. Hardly worth the effort.

The Doctor had picked Clara Oswald up for their regular rendezvous, but he’d noted she was more tired-looking than usual. So much so that she’d actually requested that this time around he just take her somewhere quiet where she could get some sleep—apparently she’d been having difficulty with a couple of her students and their parents and, making matters worse, a new tenant had moved into the flat above hers and had decided blasting music at 2 a.m. was a preferred lifestyle choice. 

Neither scenario would last forever, of course—the students would move onto their next crisis with another teacher before long and enough of Clara’s neighbours had complained that the tenant was either not long for the estate or would smarten up. But the damage had been done by way of depriving Clara of some well-deserved sleep for days on end. 

After joking about taking her back to Neptune and trying to get the bugs out of the Morpheus sleep machine (well, the Doctor thought it was a joke; Clara just glared at him), the Doctor hit upon an idea: a visit to Sleepworld, a planet totally devoted to providing visitors with the best night’s sleep in the galaxy.

“Sounds dreamy,” Clara had said, adding quickly: “You do realize I’d never willingly make a pun like that if I was fully awake, right?” 

“Whatever you say, boss,” the Doctor had replied as he pulled the lever.

But, as in all things, the TARDIS had other ideas. Instead of arriving on Sleepworld, where pillows and blankets are presented to new arrivals the same way leis are handed out to tourists arriving in Honolulu, the TARDIS landed in a park in London.

“Oh, you have got to be joking,” the Doctor moaned as they stepped out.

“Not much mileage on the old girl this time,” Clara quipped. In fact, from where she stood she could pretty much make out the roofline of her building. She even knew the park, though she had to admit it had been a while since she last visited, as evidenced by the fact there were a couple new buildings on the periphery that she didn’t recognize. 

The Doctor licked his index finger and stuck it in the air for a moment. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to stay here very long, Clara,” he said.

“Why not?”

A young boy came towards them on the pathway, his eyes obscured by what appeared at first to be a rather thick pair of sunglasses. 

“Excuse me, sonny?” the Doctor said.

“Who uses ‘sonny’ anymore?” Clara mumbled.

The boy flipped up his glasses and looked at the Doctor with unfocused orbs that had clearly been looking at an augmented reality screen point-blank for too long. He said nothing.

“What year is this?” the Doctor asked.

“Are you taking the piss?” the boy said with a scowl.

“You’ll have to excuse my … uncle,” Clara interjected. “Too much, you know…” she mimed taking a drink. “Please humour him.”

“It’s 2020,” the boy said with a shrug before flipping his glasses down and heading on his way.

“Well, that confirms it,” the Doctor said.

“So why do we need to leave?” Clara asked.

“We’re only several years into your future. Too close in—I never like to take my companions this close if I can avoid it. It’s too risky—you could run into someone you know, see next week’s lotto numbers, discover your favourite TV show was cancelled, even learn how _Game of Thrones_ ended.”

“Doctor, I’m not an amateur,” Clara laughed. “You still haven’t told me all the rules, but there are a few I’ve worked out for myself. No newspapers, no Internet, and don’t go digging. I get it. What I don’t get is why the TARDIS dropped us down here.” Her eyes were alert and bright as they looked back and forth across the park as if doing so might reveal an anomaly.

“Wait a moment, Miss Oswald, what happened to, ‘I’m so tired I could sleep for a year so please just let me sleep,’ from a few minutes ago?”

“You have a way of perking me up,” Clara said, nudging his arm. “Shall we go explore a little?”

“Okay, but let’s have no more of this ‘Uncle’ business. No one would ever buy that you’re my niece. You’re too ol … _ow!_ ”

***

Despite her enthusiasm for taking a mystery no matter the time frame, Clara agreed that it was best to steer clear of going anywhere near her flat (as she once told Orson Pink, bumping into oneself is embarrassing), or Coal Hill School. 

Sorry, better make that Coal Hill _Academy_ , as Clara noticed with delight as she saw the advert on the side of a bus. “They finally got the funding!” she crowed to the Doctor. “I knew they would.” 

The Doctor just scowled and said, “No digging, remember?” 

“Oh come on, Doctor. It’s not as if I’ve found out something that’ll change history. It’s just a school and this was in the works before I even started working there. Did you know they’re planning a building named after Barbara Wright? She used to travel with you.”

“She did. She and Ian, plus my granddaughter, then Vicki … we made quite a team back in the day,” the Doctor said, fondly as Clara took his arm and leaned into him. “Of course, we make a fantastic team ourselves, don’t we?”

“None better,” Clara said with a smile that turned into a frown as she saw the old woman staring at her from across the street. 

The Doctor had seen her, too: “You probably look like someone she knows. Or maybe she’s got issues with you hugging my arm?”

“I feel like I’ve seen her before. And the way she was looking at me … almost as if she was seeing a ghost.” Clara couldn’t completely suppress the shudder. The Doctor, who’d become increasingly physically simpatico with Clara of late, shuddered as well.

***

“So: we’re in London in 2020, a Thursday, and we’re sitting in a coffee shop having lattes. Not very lively, now, is it?” Clara said before taking a sip of said latte and reminding herself why she never went into this particular café back in her time; their lattes were awful. But the Doctor figured there was less chance of accidentally bumping into her future self in a place she never voluntarily visited while they waited for … whatever to happen.

“Doctor, you do realize that I could simply just remember to steer clear of us once I get to 2020,” Clara reasoned. “I could book a holiday, or maybe we’re on some adventure.”

“I’d rather not take the risk,” he said. “You humans are notoriously absent-minded, managing to forget Cybermen invasions, Gallifrey filling the sky overhead, even all the children on earth chanting slogans in unison.”

“I was in uni sitting my exams for that last one. The moon could have nearly crashed into the earth and I wouldn’t have noticed,” Clara laughed.

“Funny you should say that…” the Doctor began, but he was interrupted by a shrill shriek from down the street. “Someone’s …”

“…playing our tune,” Clara finished with a grin. 

*** 

“It was a troll! A troll, I tell you!”

The elderly woman was being comforted by two other people, an equally elderly man and a redhead, as she sat on a bench and fanned herself. 

“You don’t believe me!”

“Of course we believe you, Maddie,” said her male friend, who was a total failure at hiding the “you’ve gone off your nut” tone in his voice. He exchanged a look with the redhead woman who had the same eyes as the old lady that were also reflecting fear, but of a different type, more the “Mum is going to need to go into a home because she’s seeing things” variety.

The Doctor and Clara came up to the trio. Fortunately, the shriek hadn’t yet attracted police attention, but there was no guarantee it would be for long. The Doctor stepped forward. “Excuse me, I’m a doctor, can I help?”

“I don’t need a doctor,” the old woman said. “I need someone to go after the troll that accosted me.”

“What did this … troll do?” Clara asked.

“He came out of nowhere and grabbed my purse and took off down that alley. He was pink and had beady eyes and long ears. Two big teeth ... it was horrible!” 

The Doctor exchanged a look with Clara and, without another word, he started running down the alley. “Wait!” Clara called after him. “What about … ohhh, dammit …” She took out her psychic paper and flipped open the folder. Using a trick the Doctor had taught her (and one she’d used a few times in similar circumstances), she made the paper show the three people what she wanted them to see.

“D.I. Oswald, LPS. We’ve had reports of a man dressing up in a costume and stealing purses. He wasn’t a troll, honest. Now, you relax and we’ll try and get your purse back for you, okay?”

“Thank you,” the old woman said, her companions clearly relieved that she’d seen nothing more than a crook who’d watched one too many _Harry Potter_ movies.

***

“You could have said something, Doctor—that woman was scared witless,” Clara hissed at the Time Lord as she caught up to him behind a garbage tip.

“I knew you’d handle it, Clara. You know I’m not good at the reassuring thing. I’d probably have made it worse.”

Clara opened her mouth to reply, but then realized he was probably right. “Do you see our ‘troll,’ or do you have a thing for the smell of rotten bananas?”

“The woman’s description of our purse-snatcher suggests we have a Graske on our hands.”

“That’s a new one on me.”

“Wish I could say the same. They’re tiny, perpetually grumpy, and cause mischief wherever they go. I’ve had a couple of encounters with them, and so did my friend, Sarah Jane. I even dreamed once that one accosted me while I was performing in front of thousands of people at Royal Albert Hall. At least, I think it was a dream …”

“Doctor, focus.”

“Yes, quite right.” The Doctor put on his sonic glasses, which made a whirring noise as they scanned the area. “He’s crouching just around the corner, about twenty metres up the alley.”

“What would a Graske want with some old lady’s purse?”

“I dunno. What would a Zygon duplicate keep in her purse, anyway?” the Doctor asked.

“She was a Zygon?”

“All three of them were. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice, Clara.”

“It’s not like they have crooked pinky fingers, Doctor. And since when have you been able to tell the difference? You hung out with Bonnie for hours thinking she was me.”

“Oh, right … I worked out their tell.”

“Like when poker players unconsciously rub their noses or something when they’ve got a good hand?”

“Precisely,” the Doctor said. He wiggled his fingers over Clara’s eyes for a moment. “When they’re nervous, they don’t blink properly.”

“The old lady’s eyes looked okay to me.”

“Yeah, but her daughter was clearly terrified that she might have to take her to a home—Zygons mimic most human conditions, including dementia.”

“So are we going to continue this lecture on Zygon physiology or nab ourselves a Graske?” Clara was getting impatient. Too much talk and she might get sleepy again. And besides, the Graske sounded harmless enough, what could possibly go …

(…uh, maybe we’d better not finish that sentence.)

The Doctor began creeping towards the Graske’s hiding place and Clara, not for the first time, admired the near-balletic way the Doctor could move silently when the occasion demanded. She felt like a bull in a china shop by comparison. 

The Doctor peeked around the corner and saw the Graske deep in contemplation as he gnawed on a chocolate bar that had evidently come from the woman’s purse.

“Good afternoon,” the Doctor said.

Have you ever seen a cat when he’s startled? He might be purring up against a catnip mouse, stoned to the nines, when suddenly he looks up and sees a giant face smiling down at him and executes a near-perfect impersonation of a VTOL (vertical takeoff and landing) jet as he launches himself straight up in the air. Well, this Graske managed to get in a triple play: not only did he manage to successfully impersonate a cat impersonating a VTOL, but he followed up with a not-bad impersonation of Usain Bolt as he skittered down the alley.

“After him, Clara!” the Doctor cried out. “The chase is afoot!”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you,” Clara muttered as she started to run after him.

***

It’s actually not that difficult to track a three-foot-tall pink alien with giant ears, even through the streets of central London. All you have to do is follow the trail of confused people, many of whom tend to assist by stating, helpfully, “What the hell was that?” or variations (12-, 15- and 18-rated) thereof.

It also helps that, while said three-foot-tall pink alien did indeed have the speed of Usain Bolt as he, er, bolted away from the Doctor, he had several deficits to overcome: shorter legs that, as fast as he may move them, could only take him so far, and the fact Earth’s atmosphere happens to be somewhat thicker than that of the Graske homeworld, which severely cut into his speed, if not his stamina. Which adds up to the fact that, after a couple of blocks, the Doctor had nearly caught up to him. Clara wasn’t too far behind, not for the first time wondering when the Doctor would finally notice that she’d been working out (a lot of it involving endurance running, naturally). 

Clara barely registered that they were racing through an all-too-familiar neighbourhood until she passed the shop where she usually stopped for groceries. Okay, Clara, she thought, definitely make sure you’re not home when you get to this point in your life.

A few more blocks and finally the Doctor was starting to get winded. Fortunately, the Graske ran through a gate and that gave the Doctor the excuse to slow down. Clara caught up and immediately leaned over, resting her hands on her thighs and taking deep breaths.

“It’s … okay …” the Doctor said between pants. “He’s gone into the graveyard. Dead end.”

Clara looked up with a “You didn’t just say that” expression.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist. But if that chain-link fence indeed goes around the perimeter, he’s not going to get over it very easily.”

“They don’t jump or anything?” Clara asked.

“Not that I know of.”

The two entered the cemetery. Fortunately, there were no funerals underway, though a groundskeeper on a riding mower could be seen at the far end. 

“He’ll probably stay away from the tractor,” the Doctor said. “Let’s split up. If you see him, don’t go near him and come find me.”

Clara nodded. She went right, the Doctor went left. 

It didn’t take long; less than thirty second after he started exploring the left-hand graves, the Doctor all but tripped over the Graske as the alien darted out from behind an outdoor columbarium.

“Dammit! Clara! He’s coming your way!”

Either the Graske was too concerned about escaping the Doctor or he didn’t think the young human was a threat, but he was caught wrong-footed as a five-foot-two bundle of energy caught him from the side and pulled him to the ground. He struggled, but Clara used his own leverage against him and kept him pinned—let’s hear it for martial arts training.

Clara let out a whoop of exhilaration. “Got ya!” she exclaimed, putting her entire weight on the Graske. “Settle down. I’m not going to hurt you!” She began to laugh, but the laughter died in her throat as she looked up and saw writing on the cement marker right in front of her. She immediately closed her eyes as tightly as she could.

But it was too late. What is seen cannot be unseen.

The Doctor arrived and Clara rolled off the Graske, who took a deep breath. “Human nearly kill me,” the alien croaked. The Doctor thought it was an overreaction; he didn’t know that Clara had started to unconsciously squeeze the Graske enough to nearly make him breathless.

Regardless, the chase had taken the fight out of the Graske and the Doctor kneeled down in front of him. “We’re taking you home. That’s what you want, yes?”

The Graske, surprised, nodded. “Yes. I stranded here. Cross-system transmat malfunction. Trying to find way to send message home.”

“Why did you steal the bag?” the Doctor asked.

“Recognized Zygon in disguise. Thought might have transmitter. Only had sweet food.” He shrugged. “Hungry.”

“We’ll take you back to my ship and we’ll get you some food. Coming, Clara?”

Clara, her arms wrapped about her torso, nodded and followed silently behind the Doctor, trying not to look back. For what good that would do.

***

Back at the TARDIS, the Doctor locked the Graske up in a holding cell. Okay, that’s not quite accurate as the Doctor’s TARDIS didn’t have “holding cells.” It had a dungeon, sure, but that was just for parties. No, to be more accurate it was a guest room. With a full library of _Carry On_ movies on tap, of course. And a well-stocked refrigerator. The Doctor showed the Graske how to operate the VCR and then locked the door from the outside (their visitor might have come quietly, but he still didn’t want to take the risk of another Graske running loose on the TARDIS).

The Doctor rubbed his hands together as he returned to the console room. “Okay, Clara, that was easy. He’ll be able to amuse himself for a while till we get him back to the Graske homewor…Clara?”

She was grasping the control console so hard, it looked as if her fingers might break. She was staring down, but not focusing on anything.

“What’s the matter, Clara, are you ill?”

Clara looked over at the Doctor, and he immediately recognized the look in her moist eyes. It was a look he never wanted to see in anyone’s eyes, never mind his Clara’s.

“Oh no,” he said softly; he had to ask, but he already knew the answer. “What did you see, Clara?”

“I die about six weeks from now. My now.” Clara released the console, her fingertips gone bone white from the cut-off blood supply.

The Doctor took a sharp inhale. Six weeks. “Are you sure?”

“Oh, yeah, I got a right old good look at my damned tombstone when I tackled the Graske.”

“You mean, we were on top of …” The Doctor couldn’t finish that sentence. Instead, he tried to wrap Clara into a comforting hug, but she shrugged it off, almost violently.

“Don’t touch me,” she said, coldly.

“Clara, I’m sorry. When you travel in time, there is one piece of information you should never seek out. You can’t. It’ll drive you mad.”

“Well, that bit of advice doesn’t do me much bloody good anymore, now does it?” Clara moved away from the Doctor and slumped down on the steps leading to the upper level. “Thousands of graves in that yard and I had to stumble upon mine.” The Doctor wasn’t sure whether she was going to cry or scream or throw something at him. Instead, she said, so quietly and calmly he could barely make out the words, “I’m sorry. I know it’s not your fault.”

“Maybe it’s not literally six weeks,” the Doctor suggested. “We’re time travellers. Six weeks could translate to years for you.”

Clara said nothing at first. She just stared at the floor. When she spoke again, her voice sounded low and husky. Like the day she’d tried to blackmail the Doctor into changing history and saving Danny.

“I know I have to die someday. Everybody does. Everything has its time and everything dies. I get that. But six weeks … if it had said some year decades from now, okay. But six weeks … it’s not fair.”

The Doctor sat down next to her. This time she allowed him to put his arm awkwardly around her shoulders. She shifted a little and then everything fit into place. They sat in silence for a while, the close contact having a calming influence on both of them.

“Doctor,” Clara said, hesitantly. “I want to find out what happens to me. I need to know if … it’s a good, you know…”

“Clara, we can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because if you know what’s going to happen … you may try to avoid it.”

“And that’s a bad thing, why?”

“Clara, once you saw your name on the tombstone, and the date … Clara, it became a fixed point. Nothing can change it, not even me. It’s the same paradox I warned you about with Danny.”

Clara shrugged herself out of the hug and stood up. “But Danny was never a time traveller. I am and we change history all the time.”

“Yes but only in minute ways, or we’re already part of the historic record. Like the time Angie and Artie found that photo of you and me on that Soviet submarine. That photo didn’t just magically appear. Your entire life, that photo already existed in some archive, someone’s desk drawer. If I knew where to look, I could potentially find out what happens to me, to us, next week. Or what I’ll look like when this body dies …” — Clara glared at him as he said this. Not helping.

“So for history to survive, I need to die in six weeks.”

Now the Doctor stood up. “What the hell am I supposed to do, Clara? I have a duty of care—stop looking at me like that whenever I say it. I want to keep you safe.”

“I never asked you to.”

“But you’re asking me to stop you from dying. And I’m saying I want to, more than anything. But it’s like I said back on the Drum, there are rules even I can’t break.”

“But this is different. This isn’t about rules. This is us taking advantage of foreknowledge. I know the day, so six weeks from now we make sure I’m not here. We go to that garden planet you’re always wanting to take me to. We … we run away and never come back.”

“Clara, Earth is your home.”

“No it’s not. Not anymore. Not really. This is my home, the TARDIS. Earth … hasn’t really felt like home for me for a long time. God, I thought you realized.” Clara smiled for the first time since she’d tackled the Graske. “It’s like I told _you_ back at the Drum. You’ve made yourself essential to me. Don’t you feel the same?”

The Doctor smiled back. There were things he could say at this point, but he long ago made a promise to himself to never say them. To anybody. He knew full well that Rule Number One when it comes to the Doctor is “The Doctor lies.” There was one thing he never wanted to be accused of lying about, so he left it unsaid. He settled for: “Yes. Which is why I can’t let you learn the circumstances. If you know them, I’d know them. And do you think I’d let it go?”

“But you just said …”

“You’re my Clara. The rules don’t apply.”

“So what do I do now? How can I teach, mark, waste time watching TV, travel with you even, if I’m watching the clock all the time?”

The Doctor sighed and ran his hands through his hair. Clara was right. She didn’t need to know what was going to happen to her … but the very fact she knew _something_ was coming, and soon, she was still going to act differently, interact with people differently, make different decisions. God knows what she might do on the day. God knows what _he_ might do on the day. He’d been having waking nightmares about losing Clara for the better part of a year now, ever since she came back into his life (the best Christmas present in the universe), though truth be told they were more about her finding another Danny and telling him to shove off, or leaving him to help rebuild some alien civilization, or marrying an alien prince she’d just met—blowing away like smoke, Ashildr had said, like all the companions he’d known before (though the Doctor had long since accepted that Clara was unlike any companion). But the hard fact that he would lose her in just a month and a half? This was his nightmare coming true, tenfold.

“The very fact you know … history is endangered already,” the Doctor said. “That’s a problem.” The expression on her face indicated that Clara had come to the same conclusion.

“Doctor … I have an idea, but you won’t like it,” she said.

“Go on.”

“Donna Noble.”

The Doctor took a step back and shook his head. “No….”

“Yes. Doctor, use your mind-meld powers and erase my memory, just the last couple hours.”

“No, Clara, it doesn’t work like that. When I did it to Donna, I erased more than a year of her experiences. And I still carry the guilt of that with me every single day.”

“She’d have burned up if you hadn’t done it.”

“I know, but the last words she said to me were, ‘Please, no.’ I’ll carry that memory with me until my dying day. I never want to do that to anyone else, ever again. And I can’t do it with pinpoint accuracy. I could accidentally delete _all_ of your memories of our time together. I don’t think I could stand to know you’d forgotten me.”

“I don’t think I could ever forget you,” Clara said, softly.

“But you would. Every last detail. It would be like our friendship never happened, our … anyway, I can’t do it to myself and only a Time Lord has the ability. Gallifrey is still lost and we can’t trust Missy, assuming we could even find her.”

“Okay, memory worm.”

“Too risky. If one bites you, you could lose your entire adult life.”

“And you didn’t tell me this back at Karabraxos, why?”

“Those were from a rare defanged breed. Took me a year to track some down.”

“Wait a second,” Clara said with a scoff. “You had them all ready to go once we recruited Psi and Saibra. I thought you kept them in that little zoo the TARDIS has.”

“Remember when I sent you to locate Saibra while I went off to track down Psi?”

“Yes…”

“I decided to make a quick detour first. Hopped back in the TARDIS and went to retrieve the worms. Two minutes in your time. About twelve months for me. I figured you’d appreciate not having to spend a year of your life worm hunting.”

Clara smiled sadly at the Doctor. That was so him. And it also explained why he’d said, “I missed you” when she’d returned with Saibra. She thought he was joking.

“And we don’t have that much time, Clara. The longer we go with this knowledge, the more corrupt the timeline becomes.”

“I don’t want this memory, Doctor, and the stakes are too high. I’m giving you permission to take it from me. There has to be a way.” Clara was starting to get angry.

But so was the Doctor, “And what about me, Clara? Don’t you think it’s tough on me too? I just said I can’t mind-wipe myself and if I had a memory worm I’d let it chow down on me if it meant forgetting this. If we were on Gallifrey, I could use a neuroblock on the both of us; just a little adjustment and it would be like this never happened.”

“So what do we do, then, eh? Mope for the next six weeks?”

The Doctor chewed on his index finger for a moment. An idea came to him, but he didn’t like it any better than the mind-wipe. 

“Retcon.”

“What-con?” Clara asked.

“Amnesia drug. Torchwood uses it, or used to use it. I never approved.”

“What’s Torchwood?”

“Secret alien-fighting organization. A friend of mine runs it, or used to run it,” the Doctor said.

“What, UNIT’s got competition?”

“UNIT plays by the rules. Stems from when it used to be part of the United Nations before they were cut loose in the 1990s or 2000s. I don’t always like their methods, but I was there more or less from the start. Torchwood was created out of fear of the unknown—by Queen Victoria, of all people.”

“Doesn’t sound like me,” Clara said with a smirk. They’d long ago discovered that Victoria was one of Clara’s many echoes; she had helped to save the Doctor back when he travelled with Rose Tyler.

“It was a different time and Victoria felt England needed protection from people like, well, me. I was technically banished from the kingdom for a few years. Luckily, her son Bertie owed me a few gambl-, er, a few favours, so he rescinded the ban when he became king, though Torchwood continued.”

“So where’s Torchwood and how can we get hold of this Retcon stuff?”

“That’s the problem. Remember that Miracle Day thing a few years ago?”

“When there was that mass hallucination caused by terrorists poisoning the water supply and making everyone think they were immortal?” Clara said. “Torchwood did that?”

“No, but Torchwood helped to end it and they came up with that stupid cover story. I couldn’t interfere because the event was a fixed point on a global scale and I had my own problems being dead and all … long story. My friend Jack was running what remained of Torchwood at the time, but afterwards they scattered to the four winds. No one has heard from any of them in nearly five years.”

“But you can find Jack, right?”

“Yes. I haven’t really seen him since … before I had the chin.”

“Good, then you can have a reunion at the same time as you’re trying to save my sanity and all of time and space.”

“I could hypnotize you, and teach you to hypnotize me,” the Doctor offered. He really didn’t want to bring Jack into this.

Clara put her hands on the Doctor’s shoulders. “Doctor, you know it doesn’t work that way. You can’t erase memories with hypnosis. Do you have Jack’s phone number, or his last known address? Maybe Kate knows?”

“UNIT and Torchwood … they’re like the Hatfields and McCoys. Probably not a good idea.” The Doctor started to type on a keypad. “I know what we’ll do. But I have to be careful. I don’t want to take us back too early.”

“When are we going?”

“First, we drop off our little friend at the Graske homeworld. Then, Cardiff, 2008. Little place called the Torchwood Hub.”

***

Of all times to take a pizza break. Ianto Jones, Gwen Cooper and Captain Jack Harkness were pouring over a loaded with extra sausage at the Jubilee Pizza joint down the street from the Hub, Torchwood’s headquarters in the heart of Cardiff.

It had been Ianto’s idea. The three had spent nearly the entire day tracing an anomaly connected to the Cardiff Rift and they’d started to get slaphappy. Jack was hesitant to leave the Hub mid-job, but Gwen rationalized that they’d already figured out the anomaly had been kicking around for two years, so a couple hours’ break for pizza wasn’t going to end the world.

“I told ya so,” said Jack as all three wristbands the Torchwood team wore illuminated at once and vibrated.

“Intruders at the Hub,” Ianto said as he checked the scrolling readout on his.

“I told ya so,” Jack repeated, grabbing one last slice of pizza to chew on as the three raced out the door.

It only took a couple of minutes to get to one of the several secret entrances to the Hub that circled Roald Dahl Plass. A concealed elevator took the trio down into the depths of the secret base.

“Any idea what it might be?” Gwen asked.

“Could be anything from something coming through the rift to something getting out of containment,” Jack suggested.

“Captain John?” Ianto prompted.

“Christ, I hope not,” Jack said. “Probably just a weevil.”

The elevator opened at the end of a short corridor leading into the central control room. The three creeped their way down the hall towards the opening.

“Clara, I’m not going to steal from them,” a Scottish-accented voice said from within. “And I have no idea where he keeps it anyway; I’ve never actually been in here before. Well, part of me has, but not the rest of me.”

“Was that sentence supposed to make sense?” A woman, presumably Clara, speaking with a Lancashire accent.

“You could say I was quite ‘handy’ back in the day … eh, I guess you had to be there.”

Jack darted out from the corridor, his gun drawn (with his immortality, he was used to being the first jumping into harm’s way. That, and he’d lost rock-paper-scissors to Ianto while the newcomers were prattling on). “Okay, both of you, don’t move a muscle.”

The grey-haired man in the hoodie beamed a bright, toothy smile and stepped forward. “Jack! My old friend! How are you?”

“Do I know you, sir?” Jack asked.

The older man exchanged a look with his petite dark-haired companion. “Look behind you,” he said to Jack.

Jack was tempted to reply with the old, “You don’t expect me to fall for that old trick” rejoinder, but he shoulder-checked anyway and then lowered his weapon immediately as he saw the blue box sitting in one corner of the control room.

“Doctor?” Jack moved forward and gave the Doctor a bear hug that lifted him slightly off the ground. “Great to see you! Ianto! Gwen! It’s okay, it’s just the Doctor. You’ve changed. I guess that means you’ve …” A wave of sadness passed over Jack’s face for a second. Nothing wrong with the new model at all—Jack didn’t mind a bit of mileage on the odometer—but he’d grown fond of the trenchcoat-and-trainers version.

“…sort of,” the Doctor continued. “I’ve actually gone back a bit in my own timeline, so don’t worry, Sandshoes will be around for a while yet, trust me.”

“ _Eh-hem_ ,” came a quiet voice from the Doctor’s left.

“Oh, yes. Captain Jack Harkness, this is Clara Oswald.”

Jack took Clara’s hand, “Very, very, _very_ pleased to meet you,” he said. He didn’t seem to be in too much of a hurry to let go. Neither was Clara.

“ _Eh-hem_ ,” came another less-quiet voice behind Jack. This time it was Ianto.

Jack didn’t break eye contact with Clara as he said, “Doctor, you remember Ianto and Gwen, right?” The Doctor nodded at the two and tried to hide his smile at seeing Ianto's less-than-amused expression as Jack seemed to lose himself in Clara's large eyes.

“Jack, aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here?” the Doctor said, trying to break the spell. “Oh for God’s sake, you two—shall we leave you alone, then, while I go off to save time and space … _again_?”

“I think we better rejoin Planet Earth,” Clara said.

Finally, Jack let go of her hand. “Sorry, Doctor. Why are you here?”

“We need two doses of retcon.”

Jack glared at the Doctor. “How do you know we have any? You told me once that if you ever heard of me using retcon again on anyone without their permission, you’d defenestrate me. Did you know it took me twenty minutes to find a dictionary to look that word up?”

“It’s too handy a tool for you to give up, Jack,” the Doctor said.

“And you’ve got someone who’s giving you permission, right here,” Clara added.

“Why?” Gwen asked.

The Doctor cleared his throat. “We had a case of … very bad timing. Learned something we shouldn’t have,” he said.

“So that second dose is for you?” Jack asked. 

The Doctor nodded.

“Must have been something awful,” Ianto said.

The Doctor started to speak, but Clara knew he was planning to change the subject. So to hell with it. “We accidentally learned the date of my death,” she said.

“Oh, Jesus,” Gwen said. “I’m so sorry. Do you know how?”

“We’re trying to avoid finding that out,” the Doctor said. “She saw her tombstone. Her death is locked in. We need to forget what we saw because … history has to play out. We can’t allow it not to.” The Doctor found himself looking intently at Ianto, but quickly averted his eyes when he realized how stupid that was; Ianto was destined to die himself a little over a year from now. The last thing the Doctor needed was to telegraph this fact.

“And, the Doctor and I … if we only have six weeks left, we don’t need this hanging over our heads,” Clara said.

Jack nodded. “Gwen, Drawer 7B, there’ll be three cases. Take two from the middle one.”

“Right away, Jack.”

As Gwen went to retrieve the pills, Clara asked Jack, “Are there any side-effects?”

“You get an overpowering urge to visit a handsome immortal in Cardiff…”

“I’m standing right here, you know,” said Ianto.

“Sorry,” Jack said, sheepishly.

Gwen returned with two orange pills in a small baggie.

“You can dry-swallow these or take with water, your choice, and the effect kicks in after about thirty seconds; you’ll be unconscious for about five minutes and when you wake up the last six hours of your memories will be gone,” she said. “You should make sure you’re as close as possible to where you were six hours ago, otherwise suddenly finding yourself elsewhere could be disorientating, and obviously make sure you’re somewhere safe so falling asleep won’t cause an accident or something.”

The Doctor had a thought he didn’t like. “Can it be undone? Does retcon literally erase the memories or just block them?”

“They could come back,” Jack says. “But it usually takes months and special circumstances. I’ll keep the circumstances to myself and, well, the time factor doesn’t really matter in this case, I guess. Sorry, Clara.”

“Thank you, Jack,” the Doctor said. “Clara, we better go while we’re still inside the six-hour window.”

Clara shook hands with Gwen and Ianto. “Nice to meet you, even if just for a few minutes.” She gave Jack a hug. “I guess we’ll need to take a rain check on that rendezvous.”

***

Two pills sat on a plate in the room Clara used when she overnighted in the TARDIS. The walls and shelves were strewn with souvenirs, though for Clara the photo album was worth more than any other keepsakes put together. Inside were printouts of photos she’d taken during her travels with the Doctor—selfies, mainly, with the Doctor, with Rigsy, with Kate and Osgood, with Jane Austen. Clara, alone for a few minutes as the Doctor fetched some water, flipped through the album. So many memories, yet she focused on the images that meant the most to her—those of the Doctor. Some were of the Doctor with his bow tie and unruly mop of dark hair, looking so comically serious at times. In one, she’d stolen a kiss as they stood under a sprig of mistletoe and he looked like he wasn’t sure whether to run away in fear.

But then that Doctor was gone and in his place was a stern-faced grey-haired man who in the first few images clearly did not enjoy having a tiny human throwing her arms around his shoulders and making him say “Cheese!” But, as she turned the pages and the images progressed through time, this changed. The Doctor’s smile became less forced. The eyes became warmer. The last few photos, the Doctor was hugging her, not the other way around, and grinning. All that was missing was another sprig of mistletoe. Six weeks. Maybe there will be a chance, she thought. Her eyes lost focus on the page as tears filled them.

 _Six weeks_.

The Doctor came in with two glasses of water. “You okay?” he asked.

“Not really, no.”

“Me, neither.” He sat down next to her and took Clara’s hand. For a few moments, they just sat there.

“There’s something I have to say,” she interrupted. “Even though I know you’ll forget. We’ll forget.”

“We don’t have a lot of time, Clara. The six-hour window is nearly closed.”

“Doctor, please. This is important. People like me and you, we should say things to one another. And I’m going to say them now.”

The Doctor smiled sadly. “I’m listening.”

***

Clara yawned and opened her eyes. She was lying in bed in her room aboard the TARDIS. She felt relaxed and refreshed, which was quite the improvement over the last few days when she could barely sleep a wink because of parents, students and noisy neighbours. She was so tired, she didn’t even remember dragging herself into bed.

She looked over and was surprised to see the Doctor dozing in a chair a few feet away. Guess he needed forty winks too, even though he only admitted to sleeping when Clara wasn’t looking.

Well now she was looking and, for a few minutes, everything was at peace.

With a slight start, the Doctor woke up and looked around bewildered. Clara laughed.

“Wha, where … Clara? Was I asleep? I wasn’t asleep ... was I?”

“I guess you were. You must have been tired, too.”

The Doctor shrugged. “That never happens to me. I imagine you must have been so tired you dropped right off to sleep. But I wasn’t particularly tired. Maybe your fatigue is contagious? I don’t even remember coming in here.”

“Maybe the TARDIS put us to bed?” Clara chuckled.

The Doctor stood up and groaned a little at the crick in his neck. “Possibly, though why you get the comfy bed and I get the uncomfy chair is beyond me. Oh well … do you feel rested enough to join me on a quick spin around the Tadpole Galaxy, or would you rather save that for another time?”

Clara sat up and accepted the Doctor’s hand as he helped her stand. She held onto it for perhaps a few seconds longer than she needed to, but the Doctor didn’t seem to mind.

“No time like the present,” she said.

**Author's Note:**

> Gallifrey filling the sky of earth took place during "The End of Time". The Moon nearly crashing to earth comes from the Sarah Jane Adventures story, "The Lost Boy". The elderly woman being a cloaked Zygon continues the concept established in "The Zygon Invasion"/"The Zygon Inversion."
> 
> The Doctor's Royal Albert Hall "dream" refers to the fourth wall-breaking Proms minisode "Music of the Spheres."
> 
> "Carry On" was a popular UK comedy film series that ran from the 1950s to the 1980s (with occasional revival attempts afterwards). Several of the movies co-starred Jon Pertwee.
> 
> "Crooked pinky fingers" is a reference to how aliens were identified in the 1960s sci-fi series "The Invaders".


End file.
